Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1887-08-17

the last time we will ever play chess
together"
The storm rose, gathered strength
and expended it's fury In g. riotous
manner that was made memorable
over O. vast region OF land and water.
The havoc made that November
night impoverished families boasting
the accumulations of four genera
tions. Lives, fortunes, great mechan-
ical achievements melted away in an
hour in the gale that devastated
towns, farms and thousands Of miles
of the sea coast.
"Half-past eleven" said Mrs. Ed
munde, as she turned her face to the
dining-room, then glanced at me tri-
umphantly. "You have lost your
queen, your king is in check
It was true. [ had lost four out of
five hard fought games.
"We will 60 to bed now"
The servants rose; [ went to my
room and sat down. I heard Mrs.
Edmunds going to her room. The
servants preceded her. They were
now in high spirits. They laughed as
they babe their mistress good night.
AS for me, [ was not inclined to
sleep. [ replenished my fire, drew my
easy chair closer to it and sat down
to think. My meditations were Of a
pleasing nature. | had forgotten the
incident of the evening, Or recalled it
only to smile at the absurdity | was
guilty of. l did not light my lamp. l
was in that agreeable frame of mind
which renders people Indifferent, dis
inclined to exertion, receptive, rather,
travellers in life who permit the craft
to drift. The freight cleaned fitfully
on the antique furniture that Mrs.
Edmunds was so proud of, then grew
dim. The elements over head played
gamut on the chimney. It rever-
berated with the roar Of the steady
wind; now it sounded a deep bass;
now it shrieked with the cross-cutting
currents; then suddenly the fire sput-
tered, as the snow was forced down
upon it.
had just looked up involuntarily,
at the clock-mere force of habit, the
light was so dim Icould barely discern
the clock-when my door opened. I
cannot describe the sensation expe-
rlenced which impressed me with the
fact. knew just as well as you who
read these lines know you hold this
paper, that my door had opened, yet
I was sitting with my back to it.
Inerved myself for the effort; it re-
quired a great effort to rise; it required
all the power possessed to enable me
to stand upright and turn slowly
around facing the door, where l beheld
Eleanor Tottenham. She stood on the
threshold of the wide-open door, look.
ing at me with smiling face. Her
lips were parted; she sighed, rather
than spoke, Richard" and when |
advanced quickly, with outstretched
hand, saying, eleanor And at this
hour!" she turned and disappeared.
l ran out into the hall. Simud
taneously there was a cry. The sounl-
came from Mrs. Edmunds' room.
Suddenly the servants appeared; it
was evident they had not slept; they
exhibited rare presence of mind. [
pointed authoritatively to Mrs. Ed
munds' room; Violet was the first to
enter, but presently the mistress and
her maids entered the hall Mrs. Ed
munds was deadly pale. She darted a
look OF inquiry at me, then said to her
servants:
81 have had bad dream. Go
down, both of you, and bring me q
cup of strong tea
As they disappeared, I clutched at
and steadied myself holding the edge
of my door.
81 need not ask you what you have
SEEM" said Mrs. Edmunds shuddering,
and gathering the wrap she had flung
about her closer. "We must not
speak of it before them"
"May Heaven help me-" answered,
looking at her. "You too, saw"
Eleanor Tottenham pass through
my room as plainly as | see you
now"
tried to speak; my voice failed me.
/ turned and walked to my fire, CROPPED
like blind man for a match, then de-
liberately lit my lamp. Then I real
lied suddenly how impossible it was
to see any person standing in the
doorway distinctly with the light of
the fire. L looked at the clock. 1t
was half-past twelve. AS I looked,
the furniture receded; all things
around me faded; sight and touch
failed me, and I slid, rather than fell,
in g. heap beside my chair.
When [ regained consciousness, Mrs.
Edmunds and Tom Keech stood at
my bedside. Ten days had elapsed.
Ten more passed around before Tom
placed a letter in my hand, and turned
his head aside.
"I do not need to read it. / know
what it contains. Eleanor is dead"
"Yes," said my old friend, with
deep sigh.
"She died that night
DAT half-past twelve, her father
writes.'
"I knew it. Doesher father explain
why she called me at six ?"
Tom Keech turned to me with trem-
bling lips and paling face.
cat six Why, that was the hour
she was hurt. But why do you say
she called your"
81 can listen now-what was it,
Tom ?"
''They were at your-at the new
= Ia L